


If We Are

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean-Centric, Episode: s13e14 Good Intentions, Gen, Hurt Dean, Kinda, Phantom pain, warning for dean's self-loathing and general bad headspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: Dean's in the kitchen.Cas and Sam are—of fucking course—holed up in the goddamn war room. Discussing things Dean's neither got the brains nor the patience for. If everything is about the mission, about being useful or not, well, Dean's useful in the kitchen. Someone's gotta cook, keep the place stocked and in order. Sammy's not been eating much, and it worries Dean.Not that anyone's interested in Dean's worry. The interest rate for it has never been all that high, but right now it's at an all time low.





	If We Are

 

 

 

_after fasting forty days and forty nights, he was_

_hungry_

_the tempter came to him and said_

_'If you are the Son of God, tell these stones_

_to become bread'_

 

 

_Matthew 4:1-11, Jesus Is Tested In The Wilderness_

 

 

 

Dean's in the kitchen.

Cas and Sam are—of fucking course—holed up in the goddamn war room. Discussing things Dean's neither got the brains nor the patience for. If everything is about the mission, about being useful or not, well, Dean's useful in the kitchen. Someone's gotta cook, keep the place stocked and in order. Sammy's not been eating much, and it worries Dean.

Not that anyone's interested in Dean's worry. The interest rate for it has never been all that high, but right now it's at an all time low.

The smart move would be to close up shop, but Dean's too stupid for that. He keeps his worry that no ones wants or cares for, shields it, nourishes it, suffocates on it.

Dean's been here for over two hours now. First thing he did was field strip his gun, clean it, put it back together. Maybe the motions are too familiar by now, because it didn't help one damn bit. He hauled the swords from the He-Man dudes in next, cleaned them as well. Tested the handle, the weight of them in his hands. They're at the far end of the table now, gleaming faintly, majestic, pointless.

A pan is on the stove, heat simmering low. A nice, classic stick-to-your-ribs stew with beef, onion, carrots, potatoes, the works. Doing something with his hands always helps, but it's only cooking that brings that sense of contentment with it, that tiny fleeting glimpse of peace.

But the cooking part is over, and now here Dean sits, at the table, his hands empty, his mind far too crowded. Really, he should just keep his goddamn mouth shut. Everything he says lately just turns out wrong. He said Mom was dead—wrong. He said Jack would turn bad—wrong. And then in direct consequence, everything he does turns out wrong too. He gives people space, it turns out they need his help. He tries to care for them, keep them close, they get angry, they leave. He tries to ask people how they are, turns out they don't wanna share, not with him.

Dean's eyes burn. He's already cleaned and put away the knife he cut the onions with. He sits and rubs his pounding temples with one hand.

_We shouldn't get to decide who lives and dies_. _We should struggle with it, that's the whole damn point_. It's what he's wanted to say, but didn't. 'Cause he's a goddamn coward. A coward who's wrong all the time, so really, no one should ask him anything about anything, maybe.

Maybe it's no wonder someone's tried to make him shut it by choking him today.

In quiet moments like this, the anxiety of it still shivers over his skin, makes Dean bump his fingertips against his throat, over his heart. It will take a while before his body forgets, another injury taking priority. Visible or otherwise.

The stew needs to simmer for another hour. He should really go help Sam and Cas find a way to get the other ingredients. Just put on his big boy pants and leave his worry in the kitchen, where it can stay and wallow until he comes back with more.

The phantom sensation of being unable to breathe squeezes around his throat, and he puts a palm flat on the table, forces in a deep breath with his eyes closed. It's okay. He's okay.

There's no need for worry.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> written to [akai tori's festival song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6jssnN3JOk)
> 
> i'm not a native speaker and this wasn't beta read. if you find mistakes, please tell me! 
> 
> will love you if you leave me a comment! or find me on tumblr at [cuddlemonsterdean](http://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/)


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